Fic - Tomorrow and Everything After (Fiona) pg, 1/1
Title: Tomorrow and Everything After
Summary: Alcohol is coiling in her mouth the next time she sees him. Fiona always knew this is how it would end.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 622 words. Set post-series. General series spoilers. For domfangirl. I know you asked for Fiona/Jesse and I sorta gave it to you? Concrit is both welcome and appreciated. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
Alcohol is coiling in the mouth the next time she sees him.
It is years later in some non-descript bar, Sam long gone and her third scotch clutched between her too-bony fingers. She says nothing for a long while after he sits across from her, just drags the heel of her left stiletto from shin to ankle, drawing a line and digging in.
Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s really just her, but she kind of likes the pain.
This is how the story everyone refuses to speak of goes: Jesse gets back in - pretty little badge, fancy suit and all and Michael never makes it out alive.
It’s not a surprise, really. If she thinks about it (and she does, mind you, because all she has now is time and distance and this hurt in her heart she refuses to admit exists) it is an ending they all knew was going to come someday. It was just easier to stand by his side and fight along with him than watch from afar as he lost the battle.
At least now she can say she did everything she could, because the number one unwritten rule of being a spy has been and always will be about self-preservation.
Truthfully, though, she never thought she would still be standing in the end.
“What do you want?” She asks quietly, motioning towards the bartender for another drink.
Jesse runs a hand over his smooth head and sighs. “I just,” he pauses and shifts in his seat. “I wanted to make sure you are alright.”
Fiona grins, bearing her teeth. “I’m doing just fine, thanks.”
“Of course you are,” he says, full of condescension and mirth and that is that for now.
After a minute he reaches for her, palm resting on the top of her hand and she stares at it for a moment before pulling away. She thinks, idly, that he has balls to show up here just a mere six hours after they put Michael in the ground, but that is really what she always liked most about him, so.
They stare at each other for a while, neither speaking or moving or breathing really and she thinks about kissing him in this far away type of way. It almost makes her laugh, being that cliché, but once upon a time there was a hint of something between them. A constant maybe hooking onto every touch and word and moment they shared. The beautiful possibility of something. That was a lifetime ago, though and even now the name Michael defines every single undercurrent they share between them.
And Fiona isn’t exactly positive how she feels about that.
“It was never going to be you, you know,” Jesse says softly and the bartender has returned with another drink and her fingers tighten around the tumbler as he continues. “What Michael was about was always bigger than the rest of us.” There is a pause, careful and pregnant and he breathes a heavy sigh as he chooses his words. “He was the job, Fi. He didn’t know how to do anything else.”
She downs the contents of her glass in a single gulp and sucks on the one, solitary ice cube before spitting it back out. “You don’t think I know that?”
And she does. Always has. People like them aren’t built for happily ever afters and she is as sure about this as she was about Michael they day she met him. Just another truth in a long list of many she would never be able to outrun.
Jesse shakes his head as he finally settles back into his seat. He motions to her empty glass. “You ready for another?”
Fiona almost smiles.
Summary: Alcohol is coiling in her mouth the next time she sees him. Fiona always knew this is how it would end.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 622 words. Set post-series. General series spoilers. For domfangirl. I know you asked for Fiona/Jesse and I sorta gave it to you? Concrit is both welcome and appreciated. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
Alcohol is coiling in the mouth the next time she sees him.
It is years later in some non-descript bar, Sam long gone and her third scotch clutched between her too-bony fingers. She says nothing for a long while after he sits across from her, just drags the heel of her left stiletto from shin to ankle, drawing a line and digging in.
Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s really just her, but she kind of likes the pain.
This is how the story everyone refuses to speak of goes: Jesse gets back in - pretty little badge, fancy suit and all and Michael never makes it out alive.
It’s not a surprise, really. If she thinks about it (and she does, mind you, because all she has now is time and distance and this hurt in her heart she refuses to admit exists) it is an ending they all knew was going to come someday. It was just easier to stand by his side and fight along with him than watch from afar as he lost the battle.
At least now she can say she did everything she could, because the number one unwritten rule of being a spy has been and always will be about self-preservation.
Truthfully, though, she never thought she would still be standing in the end.
“What do you want?” She asks quietly, motioning towards the bartender for another drink.
Jesse runs a hand over his smooth head and sighs. “I just,” he pauses and shifts in his seat. “I wanted to make sure you are alright.”
Fiona grins, bearing her teeth. “I’m doing just fine, thanks.”
“Of course you are,” he says, full of condescension and mirth and that is that for now.
After a minute he reaches for her, palm resting on the top of her hand and she stares at it for a moment before pulling away. She thinks, idly, that he has balls to show up here just a mere six hours after they put Michael in the ground, but that is really what she always liked most about him, so.
They stare at each other for a while, neither speaking or moving or breathing really and she thinks about kissing him in this far away type of way. It almost makes her laugh, being that cliché, but once upon a time there was a hint of something between them. A constant maybe hooking onto every touch and word and moment they shared. The beautiful possibility of something. That was a lifetime ago, though and even now the name Michael defines every single undercurrent they share between them.
And Fiona isn’t exactly positive how she feels about that.
“It was never going to be you, you know,” Jesse says softly and the bartender has returned with another drink and her fingers tighten around the tumbler as he continues. “What Michael was about was always bigger than the rest of us.” There is a pause, careful and pregnant and he breathes a heavy sigh as he chooses his words. “He was the job, Fi. He didn’t know how to do anything else.”
She downs the contents of her glass in a single gulp and sucks on the one, solitary ice cube before spitting it back out. “You don’t think I know that?”
And she does. Always has. People like them aren’t built for happily ever afters and she is as sure about this as she was about Michael they day she met him. Just another truth in a long list of many she would never be able to outrun.
Jesse shakes his head as he finally settles back into his seat. He motions to her empty glass. “You ready for another?”
Fiona almost smiles.